


A Mcdonalds Drive Thru

by Gay_Burrito_Boy



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics), Spiderman - Fandom, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), peter parker - Fandom
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, Deadpool being Deadpool, Depressed Wade Wilson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mean Deadpool Thought Boxes, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is a Little Shit, Poor Peter Parker, Poor Wade Wilson, Trans Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, Wade Wilson Loves Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, for the non-con it doesnt say the word but its implied, he becomes more and more of one as it goes on, im sorry, like seriously wtf writers why, mcdonalds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gay_Burrito_Boy/pseuds/Gay_Burrito_Boy
Summary: Wade really likes Happy Meals and wants to forget all of his issues. Peter just wants to do his job and keep his secret identity. And oh fucking boy did that go wrong...Authors note: This is under editing and is my first fanfic!! You have been warned!!
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Weasel/Beer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	A Mcdonalds Drive Thru

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little warm-up, I promise I'll write longer chapters lol

Peter Parker P.O.V

  
Work. How he hated work. He hated how greasy his hands and hair would get. He hated the uniforms. A car slowly almost hesitantly pulled up towards the window. Peter sighed and he could almost feel his eye bags getting bigger. “What’s your order, sir?” he said, voice monotone. _Fuck,_ he thought, _I sound like an old man._ Peter Benjamin Parker was one technically, but he didn’t want to think about that. He especially did not want to think about his angry ex-wife and his crippling debt. Suddenly, thrust out of his thoughts, a red and black spandex clothed head popped out of the car window and said, voice raspy and high pitched, “Ten happy meals, brunette. Two big macs. French fries. Three cokes. It’s been a long night.” Peter grimaced and tried to look uninterested. The man kept jerking his neck, at least more than usual. It made Peter intensely uncomfortably.

“That’ll be, uh, um.” He stopped talking when he saw the hunched position of the usually happy go lucky Merc. He was mumbling, as per usual, but it was harder to feel comfortable when he wasn’t joking about it. “That’ll be 25.29.” Maybe that's why he did. Peter was usually disgusted by Deadpool’s eating habits but...Jesus fucking christ ten happy meals????? What kind of asylum-escapee does that?!! _Deadpool does dumbass. And didn't he say he escaped an asylum at age 15?_ Peter rolled his eyes. _He must've thought it made him look cool or something._

“Here. Keep the change. I don't even fucking need the money anyway. I don't need anyone, especially Spiderman and his stupid smile and- Augh, god.” Wade handed him a greasy hundred dollar bill and Peter felt his face warm without a mask to hide behind. He quickly turned around and yelled out the (ridiculously) large order. Wade pretended to shoot his fellow drivers while Peter accidentally started humming the Kahoot Lobby Theme because god Tony needed to stop making fucking Kahoots- “Yeah well, it’s not like he’d care anyway. Shut up. Like seriously.” Wade rambled loudly now, his mumbling gone and truly missed. Cursing and extremely crude sex depictions flew out of Deadpool’s mouth as he threatened imaginary people.

“Sorry to interrupt your intense monologue over here, but why are you ordering ten friggin happy meals?” Peter pursed his lips, genuinely concerned. But also amused. That was usually the mixture of emotions he felt around Deadpool. He felt extremely stupid for saying 'Friggin' but he did not want to get fired for gratuitous profanity. Fuck, we are getting old.

“You know, if you think about it happy meals are actually sad meals because a baby animal was slaughtered for your burger and your Lil nuggets are trapped inside the box and when you give them freedom you also give them death.” Wade looked down a moment after and then said “Also because I’m feeling like dying of diabetes. Dying of any sort. There’s a word for this feeling, starting with an ‘s’?” He laughed and side smiled. It was a nice smile. Sassy but not asshole-y. He ignored the word 'Suicidal' being echoed in his head.

“Lemme guess, you feel shitty because…” Peter paused. Wade filled in quickly, obviously in need of venting. Peter was handed the cokes and straws. He passed it to Deadpool, his pale skin flushed red because of the cold. Obviously.

“Because I got caught up in my own stupid fucking dick feelings and I swear if I could die I would, even if I had to see my ex.” He banged his forehead on the wheel of the car and groaned. “I missed my meeting with my fucking kid because I was emotionally slutty for a fucking-” Peter grimaced, raising his eyebrows. That was why he suddenly left. He ignored the part of him that said Thought he was just being an asshole. “I just wanna stab myself in the dick. More than I did in my teenage years.” He laughed, but it was twisted. Wrong. Sad. Deadpool had a way of making jokes feel like that.

“You missed one meeting with her? Him? It’s fi-” Peter had met Ellie once, and he knew they only met on Thursdays. She had called him a twink. He still did not know what that word meant, and he did not want to find out.

“It’s not!! I’m just like my fucking dad!!” Wade’s eye twitched. His shoulders rose up and down. Peter’s throat felt constricted. He wasn’t dumb(most of the time) and he knew Wade’s father was… Well, this wasn’t his words but “Premium Piece of Asshole” was his main trait. Wade was, of course, touchy about the subject, and brushed it off with a borderline offensive joke about getting beaten as a child or a really bad pun. Which was his way of dealing with any serious topic. That Peter now realized was probably not healthy.

“Look, dude. You need to let this go. You missed it once, that doesn’t make you a bad person. I’m sure your kid will forget about it in a week, tops.” Peter smiled his best reassuring smile and lifted an eyebrow. “It also doesn’t mean you should get morbidly obese.” Wade gasps.

“Did you just call me fat, you- you-” The amount of expression in the mask is astounding. “Oh fuck you, McDonald's drive-thru worker.” Peter snorted and his other coworkers gave him the side-eye but he didn’t care.

“My name’s Peter.” Immediately he regretted saying that. Oh god, this is a bad idea- “Parker.”

Wade gave that stupid sassy smirk of his and said “It’s very nice to meet you, Petey. My name’s Wade, rhymes with lemonade. I hate lemonade from here.” Peter almost giggled and then internally smacked himself. No Bad Peter. This is Deadpool remember?? Flirty mercenary you hate?? No fucking giggling, you piece of- He snapped out of it when greasy bags and boxes were shoved into his hands with a glare from his very mean lesbian co-worker. She spoke with a slight accent, that, if called out she would smack you. Her hair was wavy and black, her glasses constantly smudged but still clean enough for her to use. I mean, Peter didn't know she was a lesbian. Though it would've been a bit smarter to assume her lesbian flag pins and close friends were not just her being an ally. He had tried to ask her out but alas alack, unless Peter grew some boobs and had long hair, it’d never work. Also, she hated him with a passion. Might’ve been because he was a bit new to working. “Hey, Hey Petey, Hey Petey you little shit give me my diabetes in a box. A hoe is hungry.” Wade snapped his finger and pursed his lips.

Peter made a face. “Did you just call yourself a hoe?”

“I’m slutty enough to be one, Peter. Now please. Diabetes in a box.” He almost growled. Peter neatly gave him his happy meals, big macs, and french fries, along with a healthy dosage of napkins. “Well, goodbye Petey-pie. I’m gonna go cry in the parking lot.” Wade shot him some finger guns after driving off in a (probably) stolen car. He felt a glare on the back of his head. Back to work, Parker.

  
Wade Wilson P.O.V

**Are we gonna cry and listen to eighties music again?**

"Hey, hey!! 'Member the pact, fucker. We don't talk about that." Wade sipped three cokes at once while driving with one arm, probably almost running someone over. "Blegh. This tastes like sugar shit juice. I have no idea how I liked this so much as a kid."

**Well, we weren't exactly that sane as a "kid".**

_We aren't sane, remember?_

"Different kind of insane. Lil me was a bit more..." He bit his lip and took a bite of his mini burger.

**Bit more into saying "Gee I wonder where all these random cuts are coming from?"**

_Bit more into fucking up random strangers for free when asked._

**Bit more into getting mole-**

"Focus guys. Just let me focus on driving for fucking five seconds." Wade puckered his lips to drink more coke as he tried to park. Keyword tried.

_This is why you never got a driver's license._

"Lucky for me, I've got a distraction with my ugly mug. We discussed this." He stuffed food in his mouth, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He glanced at the piles of collectibles and clothes he had put in the back of his stolen car. Everything he had done had seemed like running uphill with no feet. Or something. Wade wasn’t good at thinking. Or anything much really. All of the money he had was spent and was now withering away, no jobs he would take. Eviction notice after eviction notice, his life seemed to be in a loop. No place to find stability, just apartment after apartment, friends couch after friends couch, rejection after rejection, and attempted suicide after attempted suicide. He’d find every distraction he could because he now knew what killing was. A drug. Wade knew a lot about drugs. It closes the void and lets you escape. But the moment you stop you’re even emptier than before. So you kill again. And again. Until there's nothing left to take. Wade was a hollow shell, an empty void that tried to cover itself up with dick jokes and death threats. But below the mask and big guns and muscles, he was just nothing. Nothing, he thought. The word repeated itself, becoming more of an echo. Wade sighed and turned on the radio, looking for a good station. Blurts of rap, pop, kids pop, musicals, and words blasted from the devilish thing. He hit it annoyedly, and the blurts stopped. Wade leaned back into the somehow pointy car chair. Fuck, Wade thought as his eyes drifted closed. Fuck.

Strangely, Wade didn't have any nightmares or strange hallucinations. And he actually slept. He had a dreamless sleep. He did, however, wake up with cramps, an urge to vomit, and pieces of glass all over his car. He shifted in his seat, the annoying pinpricks of glass gone from his ass. The sun was beginning to rise and streaks of pink and purple were fading. The voices were surprisingly quiet, either out of awe or how this was the place Wade felt most calm. He sat on the front of the car, sipping luke-warm coke until New York was awake again. People started to go to their jobs, get food, buy clothes, survive, wander confusedly, and begin their routines. There was an almost calming beauty to it, how the simple things became into one large puzzle, all pieces the people. He was suddenly hit in the face by the smell of piss and weed. "And reality kicks in." Wade sighed. Fuck, he thought. Fuck.

Wade's day was uneventful as it could be, brief conversations with Weasel accompanied by unaffected alcohol. People came in and out, but Wade stayed in, drinking while Weasel gave him the devil eye. Wade was not holding back that he owed him one since he did save his life. Two years ago. Accidentally. He looked up from his luke-warm beer. "I think secretly, under the self-preservation and asshole-" Wade burped. "You're a decent human being." Weasel wiped the table with a washcloth that had seen better days while Wade toyed with his glass, mumbling obscenities. His leg bounced as more people came in the bar, gaining a rhythm and a reoccurring/healing bruise on the top of his knee(that was getting banged in an unsexual way by the top of a bar counter). "Stop shaking your knees. It won't stop any epiphanies about how destructive your fragmented sense of self is on the people around you..." said Weasel, give him the side-eye.

"I think you're just sour because I called you a decent human being. That fucking bull crap can get under a dudes skin." Weasel raised an eyebrow, his glasses sliding down.

"And your clothes. At least for you." Wade made a displeased noise and then stopped to sip more beer.

**He's right you know.**

"Bout what, dickface." He lowered his voice along with his eyes.

_Any poor soul that gives you basic kindness-_

**Or human rights, surprisingly-**

_Well, you end up either wanting to fuck them or kill them._

**Your two modes of affection.**

Wade sighed, shoulders hunching, and then looked at the camera The Office style. "This fanfic has less flow than the last day of your period."


End file.
